


Interracial BBC Sherlock AUs

by blackwatson23



Series: Interracial Sherlock: The Mini-Adventures [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Just you wait - Freeform, Kid!Lock, Multi, Punk!lock, cat!lock, i have a future planned out and everything, names may change but probably not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:25:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwatson23/pseuds/blackwatson23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan goes shopping and leaves Sherlock home with their children. And other stuff happens.</p><p>Title change and slight revamp!</p><p> </p><p>I've been looking at lots of AUs and head cannons on tumblr lately and my writing hand has been itching to be a part of these. Some are my own thoughts, others, which will be noted, are other Sherlock Head cannons from other peoples turned into Interracial!Sherlock.</p><p>I hope you enjoy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Meeting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830511) by [blackwatson23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwatson23/pseuds/blackwatson23). 



One day beautiful day, Sherlock was having a hard time getting the results to an experiment he wanted.

 

Joan left to go Tesco shopping, something about needing suitable food or something or other, so Sherlock was left babysitting, albeit very horribly. The 7 year old girls played pirates in the sitting room and terrorized the dog when Sherlock gave a frustrated yell. Stomping out into the sitting room, he collapsed onto the sofa, placing his hands on his face.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?” Olive asked, coming to stand next to him.

“I’m having a hard time.” Sherlock said simply, bringing his hands down and looking seriously at his youngest. Her eyes widened in shock then narrowed back in worry.

“Is it really bad? Did you hurt yourself?” Eugenia asked from across the room. She had made herself comfortable in her mother’s chair and was waving a fake plastic pirate sword at him.

“I’m trying to come up with an answer to a question I have,” Sherlock explained, dumbing it down for them. “So I have to come away and think about it some before I go back.”

Of course, that was Joan solution for everything, leaving it then coming back to it. For Sherlock it was leaving it, and then never coming back to it and _then_ Joan coming to it only to come back to _him_ , screaming at him about it. Good thing he was a terrific kisser or her would never hear the end about anything he did.

“Oh,” Eugenia replied before losing interest and singing some song she made up.

“Would it help if I got momma?’ Olive asked not letting it go.

“It would,” Sherlock answered, wishing the woman would magically appear like she usually did in moments like this. ‘But she’s at the market. She won’t be back for a while.”

“Does that make you sad?”

He gave the saddest pouty face he could manage. “Very.”

Olive considered this information carefully, her eyebrows drawing together. She brought her hands together and placed the fingers against her lips, reminiscent of her father’s famous thinking pose. Suddenly, she gasped and scrambled up onto the sofa, sitting next to him. She grabbed his left hand and patted it. “It’s okay daddy. I’m here for you. Would you feel better if I held your hand until momma gets home?”

Sherlock pretended to consider this a good minute before answering, ‘Yes, actually, I think it would.”

Olive nodded happily and beamed up at him, clutching tightly to his hand. “I thought so. Momma does this for me sometimes too.”

“Oh does she now?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. Sometimes, when I’m real scared or when I gotta’ cross the street to see you, momma holds my hand and come and we see you together and that makes me really happy. Are you happy now daddy?’

He raised their clasped hands and kissed the back of her darker one. “I am unbelievably happy. Thank you my dearest.”

“Hey, what about me,” Eugenia yelled, making her way to them. She scrambled around the table and sat opposite her sister, right beside Sherlock’s empty right hand. She grasped it and lifted it to his face. “Kiss me too! I wanna’ kiss!”

Sherlock smiled and kissed the back of the lighter hand, switching back and forth between the two, causing both girls to giggle uncontrollably.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

When Joan entered 221B, it was to worrisome silence. The flat was never this silent and Joan hurried upstairs with her bags to the flat, whose door was wide open as usual. When she entered, looked to the left then to her right and breathed a sigh of relief.

The twins, covered in eye patches and black pirate hats, were leaning against their father on the sofa who’s own hat covered head was leaned back in sound sleep. Their snores were the only sound she could hear and she placed a hand against her mouth to keep from cooing aloud at the adorable sight.

Slowly but quietly, she made her way into the kitchen and placed the bags onto the floor. Moving to her chair, she picked up the blanket that was draped across it and carefully walked across the room to her family. As cautiously as she could, she draped the blanket over them, making sure each body was covered as well that could be. Before she went back into the kitchen, she couldn’t help but notice that in each of Sherlock’s large hands, a tiny one was placed into them, clutching them tightly.


	2. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does it take to fall in love with someone that is totally differnt from you? 
> 
> Shoot a cabbie that is trying to kill your boo through an open window a couple of feet away. or beat up some guys in an alleyway..
> 
> Answers all problems.
> 
>  
> 
> (Takes place in the future (teenage daughter Eugenia))

As soon as Eugenia was settled into bed, she expected to fall asleep immediately. The exhaustion that wracked her body seemed to be catching up to her but the longer she laid there and the longer every minute seemed to turn into hours, she grew more restless. How did two totally different people from two different sides of the spectrum fall in love? How did someone like that know they were in love with someone else? Her parents had done it and they were as different as mashed potatoes and peas, which are delicious together by the way, and just seemed, well…perfect. Turning her head, she looked aat the analog clock. 11:45PM screamed in her face. Before she knew it, she was on the phone calling the familiar Baker Street number.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he mother asked answering, ignoring a normal greeting.

“Hello to you too, momma,” Eugenia said sarcastically. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“You never call me at this late an hour.” Her mother said simply. She could hear the exhaustion in her voice. “So obviously my best bet would be to expect the worst.”

She thought of her brother and her attitude dropped down another sour note.

‘I’m sorry momma,” She apologized, picking at the lint on her comforter. ‘I just….I just really wanted to hear your voice.”

“It’s all right. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Nothing’s really the matter, mom.” She told her. “I just…had a question.”

“A question?”

“Well, yea, a question. Not a serious, or bad question, or anything. Just. It’s about something that’s been on my mind as of late.”

“Oh- _kaaay_ …” he mother drawled. They both were silent for a moment before her mother asked, “Well?!”

“How did you know you were in love with dad?” She blurted.

“What?” Her mother asked, a startled laugh coming from her mouth. “You mean this isn’t a question that couldn’t wait till morning?!”

“Momma,” Eugenia whined, slapping her hand against her forehead. She dragged the hand down her face. ‘Please just tell me.”

“Well,” Her mother laughed. “It wasn’t anything that I could say for certain.”

“How was it, then?”

“It was…gradual.” Her mother reminisced. “When I first met him I thought he was the most mysterious and strange man on the face of the earth. Then, as time moved on, I thought he was the biggest baby in the world.’ The both laughed at this. “He was always getting into trouble, more than what he gets in now, mind you. But every time something happened and I thought I would leave, something would tell me no. Then I would find the simplest reasons to stay. I would tell myself ‘He’ll probably blow up the entire block, if you’re not here.’ or ‘who’s going to save him when he’s trying to save everyone else?’ Then, later on, I realized that I needed him just as much as he needed me.”

Eugenia was touched by her mother’s words. She knew she loved him, any git with eyes could see that. Her father wasn’t the showiest of men with his feeling, being around other British men like her Uncles taught her that, and overall she wanted it that way. She loved coming home to them, giving her the warmest hugs and loving kisses on her cheeks, on her forehead.

‘Why? What’s this about?” he mother asked after a moment, apparently caught up in it as well. “Have you met someone/’

Eugenia could feel the blush flush her cheeks. She stayed silent, not know what she could say.

‘Oh my god, you have haven’t you?!” Her mother said excitedly. “Sherlock, your baby has found herself a boyfriend.”

“Oh man, momma no!” Eugenia exclaimed. ‘No, its just. I think I may have. I just…I don’t know how…” She was trying to conjure words that described Jeremy Moran an the words disappeared everytime she tried to. “I;m just not sure how I truly feel about him.

“I want grandkids!”

“You’ll get them….in time.”

“What do you mean, ‘In time?’? I had to carry yo’ big ass around for 9 months!”

“It was 8 months and 28 days mom! Not even the whole trimester!”

“Same difference,” She scoffed, disregarding the specifics. “I just want…hey! Stop that! Sherlock!”

A bit of rustling and jumbled voices were speaking arguing in the background. Things were crazy just for a minute, until…

“Eugenia, would you please get off the phone?” her father suddenly said. She could hear scuffling in the background and her mother yelling at him to give her the phone back. “I am trying to- stop it, Joan- I am trying to shag your mother and your presence on the telephone is preventing that.”

“Dad,” Eugenia ignored. “How did you know you were in love with mom?”

“When she beat up three men in an alleyway to protect me,” He said suddenly, keeping in time with the question. “Owww, stop hitting me Joan…. I am talking to your daughter, don’t bother me.”

“So it was love at first sight, in a way.”

“If a girl your age would like to think of it that way, yes. I suppose it was.”

“Well I think it would be, she just meeting you after beating three guys to a pulp in an alley to save you. Like a knight in shining armor or….like Batman.”

Sherlock sighed heavily, and then said something mumbled off the phone, more than likely to her mother.

“Again, if you like to think of it that way, yes. Everything in this world happens for a reason, your mother likes to remind me, spirits and minds connected and all that idiotic nonsense. The concept of love is a massive human error, Eugenia, I tell you that too many times to count.”

“Well, yeah,” Eugenia sighed, rolling her eyes. “But you fell in love with momma. Do you think that is an error? A mistake…”

“Falling in love with your mother was the best decision I ever made.” Sherlock said harshly, suddenly interrupting. “Without your mother I would have lost a reason for being here a long time ago. Probably would have 8-balled myself into whatever afterlife others have conjured up. I don’t have to remind you that without it _you_ wouldn’t even be here, need I?”

She smiled. Of course her father would be nothing but honest on the subject, also with major kudos because he was lying in the bed with her mother. She had always had a soft spot for her father’s compliments, mainly because he didn’t give them very often, well, not as often to outsiders than to his own family. As she had gotten older, Uncle Myc even got a few nice compliments these recent years, albeit underneath the Queen and fat jokes he threw in.

This all had to have been under the influence of her mother. The over-emotional American, as her momma liked to call herself.

“That is it now, Eugenia.” Her father said sternly. The background noise had gotten quiet after his speech. “I am going to get off the phone now and you are not to call until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow afternoon?!” She asked incredulous. “What if something happens in the hours before then/”

“Call your Uncle.”

“Uncle…”

“Lestrade,” He filled in. “Have you forgotten what Gavin does for a living? Or better yet _whom_ he’s doing for a living?”

“It’s Greg, poppa.” She laughed. “And no I haven’t. I’ll call you after I get off from work.”

“I still doubt it but alright.” He chuckled. “Goodnight Eugenia, rest well.”

“Goodnight poppa. I love you.”

“And I you…” She could practically hear him smiling.

After she hung up, she turned off her lights and snuggled herself underneath the covers, dreaming about a man named Gavin, a certain British Queen, an army doctor and a consulting detective surrounding her in human errors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the name Eugenia from the Eugenia Watson blog story by madlorific
> 
>  
> 
> Please understand that its not based on her story, the name is just borrowed from there. Thank you.


	3. A Scandal in 221B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So ya'll remember that part in A Scandal in Belgravia where Mrs.Hudson got beat up by those Americans??
> 
>  
> 
> Well take that , replace her with two kids that came from Sherlock's loins and you got yourself this chapter....
> 
>  
> 
> (Young Twins and Sherlock being a BAMF)

Sherlock went to open the door when he looked and realized the wood frame around the door handle was all but completely smashed in. With the children, who should now be home from school, the sight put him on complete edge. Someone had either tried to break into 221B or had already done it. He wasn’t sure what he was worried about more: The fact that someone may have been lying in wait for him to get back home or the fact that someone may have come in after the twins returned, putting their lives in danger. Lifting his hand, he pressed it against the door, the wood opening up with a creak.

He stepped in carefully, not knowing if someone was hiding in the shadows in front of him. The children’s backpacks were on the floor, as if someone had just thrown them down from the top of the stairs. Eugenia’s backpack was open, her school books, crayons and pencils spilling out from it. He didn’t dare touch it, afraid that he would find something there he didn’t like. He scanned the foyer, looking for any other evidence he could come across. Sherlock saw Joan’s cleaning carrier, eying the bottle of Zil Cleaning spray that lay there. He looked over the staircase again, this time noticing a small piece of wallpaper sticking up from the wall. He had walked up and down these stairs for the past 12 years and the paper was always in perfect, well laid condition. He imagined the scene that happened here:

_The children came home and closed the door. They were standing in the foyer when the door was kicked in, startling them both. They tried to fight back, Eugenia reaching for the pocket knife he had given her. They were obviously grown men but his junior detectives gave it their all fighting them back. They obviously had a hard time with the two 8 year olds, who had an army doctor and a consulting detective who both shared an equal amount of fights in their lifetime that fought with everything they had in them. One of the men dragged his foot against the wall near the edge of the staircase, a telltale scuff mark that trailed upstairs giving him away, trying to get them up to the flat. One of the children scratched at the wall, causing the paper to peel slightly back, letting him know that they were forcefully brought upstairs. He could practically hear them screaming for him and Joan, terrified but not giving up the fight._

The rage that boiled inside him threatened to overflow, sending Baker Street and every single street, building and person in England into a fiery burning hell.

He would make sure to reward his children with something when he finished, if they hadn’t been mortally wounded.

The men would wish they had never been born.

He walked up the stairs, slowly like Joan would do to let her rage flow from a light simmer to a raging boil.

The sniffling of the children greeted him first, before he even opened the door to the flat. When he walked in, three men stood posted in the sitting room. One stood by the window, another stood in front of the kitchen, and one stood in front of the fireplace, a gun with a silencer attached pointed at Olive’s head.

The twins sat in a chair in front of the man with the silencer, holding tight to one another and sniffling, trying to keep their tears and cries to a low pitch. When he opened the door, they looked up and moved to reach out to him, but the hand on Eugenia’s shoulder kept her down and Olive held tight to her, therefore paralyzing them both into their seat.

“P-papa,” The cried quietly, tears flowing hard from their eyes. They were so terrified they shook.

“Don’t snivel children,” Sherlock said, coolly calm. “It’ll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet. What a tender world that would be…”

The children cried harder.

“Oh, pa-papa…” Olive cried, burying her face into his sister’s neck.

“S-sorry papa…” Eugenia cried after, clutching tighter to her sister.

“I believe you have something that we want, Mr. Holmes.” The man behind them stated, American accent giving him away. _Oh great_ , Sherlock mused. _Joan would love to see a fellow American here. I wonder if she would mind visiting the morgue to chat with him…_

“Then why don’t you ask for it,” Sherlock said stonily, stepping towards his children. He reached out to them and they immediately reached back. He noticed the small cuts on Eugenia’s hands and forearms, Olive’s torn shirt sleeve, the bloody bruises on both their foreheads.

“I had asked these two but they don’t seem to know anything. But you know what I’m asking for, don’t you Mr. Holmes?

Olive had a small cut on the left side of her cheek and he took a quick glace to his left, noticing the blood on the man’s chunky ring. Looking up, he memorized the weak points on the man’s body, deciding which part to hurt first.

“Oh, I believe I do.” He answered huskily.

The children looked up to their father, noticing how neutral his face was. He could tell they knew that face, seen it a thousand times when they did something that made their father 10 types of angry. His face couldn’t be read but his eyes, something dark and evil lingered in them. He then knew that they were immediately petrified and not of the men around them, but of one in front. He backed away from them, hands clasped behind his back. The man pointed his gun away from the children and onto him instead.

 _Wise Decision_...

“First, get rid of your boys.”

“Why?”

“I dislike being outnumbered; it makes for too much _stupid_ in the room.”

The man sighed heavily, as if he was wasting time and wanted to get through quickly.

“You two,” He said, looking back and forth to his cronies. “Go to the car…”

“And get into the car and drive away. Don’t try to trick me, you know who I am, it doesn’t… _work_.”

The men walked quickly out of the room and down the stairs. The two men inside the room stayed silent until they heard the car start and drive away.

“Next you can stop pointing that gun at me.”

“So you can point a gun at me?” The man asked, laughably collected. Oh if only he knew the repentance he was in for, he would have left along with his two stooges. Sherlock held out his arms to be checked.

“I’m unarmed.”

“Mind if I check?”

“Oh, I insist.”

“No,” Eugenia whispered aloud, knowing what was going to happen.

 _At least someone in the room is using their brains_ , Sherlock mused careful to keep his face neutral. _Too bad it isn’t_ you.

The man walked forward and lazily checked the front of Sherlock’s coat. If he had actually tried doing his job, he would have come across the can of Zil hidden in his scarf, right beneath his chin. Since he didn’t, as he walked behind him, Sherlock turned, pulling the can out and sprayed him in the eyes. He gave a short cry out before Sherlock head-butted him, immediately knocking him out.

“Moron,” He belittled, twirling the can in his hand. Slamming the can onto the window table, he hurriedly rushed to his children, kneeling at their feet. They cried in earnest now, hugging him around his neck and holding tight.

“You’re alright now, you’re alright,” he cooed to them, rubbing their backs. He pulled away slightly to wipe the tears from their faces. “I’m going to call your mother and she’ll be here soon.”

“Oh papa, thank you!” They cried, shaking with their tears.

He looked back at the idiot sprawled out on the short table in front of the couch, and rose up.

“I think I’ll take care of the garbage before she gets here.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

_Baker St. Immediately_

_-SH_

Joan rushed from the building from Irene as fast as she could go. Luckily, the car that drove her there was also waiting to take her back.

“Back to Baker Street and in a hurry,” she told the driver. They pulled up in front of the door in record time. Getting out she rushed to the door, noticing a note hanging from the doorknob. Written in Sherlock’s sloppy sharp handwriting was:

CRIME IN PROGRESS

PLEASE DISTURB

Joan swiftly opened the door and walked in, noticing the mess in the foyer. She hurried up the stairs to the flat.

“What’s going on?” She asked out of breath. She noticed the man duct taped to a kitchen chair, the tape also covering his mouth, in front of the fireplace. “Jesus, what the hell is happen-?”

“Momma,” The children exclaimed and Joan looked from the man to where they sat on the couch.

“The twins have been attacked by Americans. I am restoring balance to the universe.” Sherlock answered simply, pointing a gun in the duct taped man’s direction with one hand and holding his cell to his ear with the other.

Joan went to her children and they cuddled against her on the couch, resuming their tears.

“Oh my babies, my god, are you alright?” They nodded, holding tight to her sides. “What have they done to you?”

“Momma, everything’s just been so silly.” Eugenia cried, placing her hands on her face to try and stop her tears.

“Momma, momma he hit me.” Olive cried, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and pointing to the beaten man. Joan noticed her torn shirt sleeve and she was ready to start World War IV. Sherlock already seemed to be in the middle of World War III.

“Downstairs,” Sherlock said quickly, rising from his seat. “Take them downstairs and look after them.”

Joan looked up at him and he held her gaze, a mutual understanding between them:

_There is going to be a murder here today and innocent eyes should not bear witness to it._

Joan hurried the children along, they both holding tight to each side of her.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Joan asked, slightly worried. She knew she could be a terror when she was angry, but she didn’t know what terror lied inside her husband when he was. She wanted to make sure that if he was going to do something reckless, should she stay on Baker Street or maybe fly to China.

“I expect so, now go.” Sherlock answered, his already deep voice sounding absolutely resigned and ready to drop bodies. He looked her in the eyes again, and they held for another moment, the understanding making alarms go off inside her head.

Joan looked at the man duct taped and gave a barely there smirk.

 _Get ‘em, babe_ , Joan thought to herself, hoping through ESP or something that Sherlock would get her urging and act.

As she carefully walked down the stairs with twins, she could hear Sherlock on the phone, talking with Lestrade.

“Lestrade, we’ve had a break in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance…Oh, no no no no, we’re fine. No it’s the, uh, it’s the burglar. He’s got himself badly injured. Oh, a few broken bones, fractured skull….suspected punctured _lung_ ; he fell out of a window...”

Joan escorted the kids to Mrs. Hudson’s flat, thankful for the extra key hidden on top of the door frame. She sat them down in the kitchen, gathered the first aid kit, and set to work working on the various cuts and bruises on her darlings. The children told Joan of their bravery, how they tried to fight off the unwanted trespassers but failed because of how much stronger they were than them and how papa was so cool and brave and how he rescued them from a certain fate.

As they talked, a loud bang and crash sounded right outside the window and all three looked towards it.

“Ooh, that was right on Mrs. Hudson’s bins!” Olive exclaimed.

In the midst of the crushed bins, a voice groaned.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Not too long after, Lestrade and his team arrived, along with an ambulance. The children rushed outside to greet him, doing another dramatic retelling of the day’s escapade.

When he was done talking to them and calming them down a bit so they would go back inside to their mother, Lestrade stood next to Sherlock. They both watched as the ambulance drove off with a heavily harmed intruder moaning and groaning in the back.

“And exactly how many times _did_ he fall out the window?” Lestrade asked weary of an answer.

“It’s all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector.” Sherlock replied, nonchalantly. He turned and looked at him, face dispassionate. “I lost count.”

After Lestrade and the rest of the team headed back to Scotland Yard, Sherlock quickly reentered 221B through Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen. The twins and Joan sat at the table, having each a cup of tea and some strawberry tarts from Mrs. Hudson’s fridge.

"They’ll have to sleep in our bedroom tonight,” Joan said worriedly, rubbing her hand over Olive’s head. “We need to look after them, at least for now.”

The twins complained mouths full of food.

“No, they’re fine.” Sherlock said flippantly, heading to the refrigerator to grab him a strawberry biscuit sweet from a plate.

“No they’re not. Look at them.” Joan urged. “They should take some time away from here and go stay with momma or Mycroft. Doctor’s orders...”

Sherlock took a bite and looked at the children, closing the fridge.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“They’re in shock, for god sake, and all over some stupid camera phone!” Joan leaned back in her seat, visibly exhausted. “Where is the dumb thing anyway?”

Sherlock took another bite and wiped at the corner of his mouth. “The safest place I know.”

He looked down at Eugenia who looked at Oliver. Oliver reached down and pulled the mobile from his pocket, holding it up to his father.

“Daddy told me to put it in my backpack for safekeeping,” Eugenia explained. “I succeeded in taking it out before they busted in through the door but since my skirt has no pockets, I gave it to Olive and she put it in his pocket.”

“Yeah,” Olive agreed, beaming. “I managed to make sure they didn’t see it when they thought I was having a really bad cry.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock acknowledged, kissing his cheeks and then making his way to his youngest daughter. He picked her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him.

“Shame on you, Joan Watson,” Sherlock scolded.

“What do you mean ‘Shame on me?’?” Joan asked, incredulous.

“Have my two best junior consulting detectives leave Baker Street? _England_ would _fall_.”

The children giggled and Joan smiled, agreeing.


	5. txt Msgs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan needs Sherlock to buy milk and he is being an asshole....
> 
>  
> 
> Mentions a rumor of a certain amateur porn recording. 
> 
> The talented actors have yet to be identified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in the very beginning stages of my Joanlock story. It's supposed to have a place in the future but from the way I keep changing my mind, it's probably not going to happen so I'm just putting it here.
> 
> Lovely.

_Where are you?_ –JW

 _NSY_ –SH

 _Okay. When you’re done, go get milk_ –JW

 _What Why?_ –SH

 _Because we need it_ –JW

 _What for?_ –SH

 _To drink, Sherlock_ –JW

 _We have milk at home_ –SH

 _No we have a milk carton at home with some unidentifiable substance you put inside that smells like death. That’s what we have in the Frigidaire_ –JW

 _Its milk_ –SH

 _Milk and what?_ –JW

 _…milk_ –SH

 _Yeah, you couldn’t even lie_ –JW

 _Yes I could. Its milk and nothing else. See, I’m a perfectly wonderful liar_ –SH

 _I’m ignoring you and I am currently pouring this disgusting shit out_ –JW

 _Please don’t…_ –SH

 _IT SMELLS LIKE ASS AND DEATH AND THERE ARE LITERALLY MAGGOTS CRAWLING AROUND IN THE SINK SHERLOCK HOLMES WHAT THE HELL IS THIS AND PLEASE TELL ME WE WON’T DIE FROM BREATHING IT IN_ –JW

 _I told you not to. It’s your own fault. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what it was. Since you said it as maggots in it, it was obviously a failed experiment. I don’t think you’ll die from it. If you do die, are you planning on donating your body for science? Can I have your brain and your heart?_ –SH

 _I am literally planning on taking your head and placing it right beside Mr. Shakespeare’s on the mantle. I am going to kill you if I don’t die first_ –JW

 _I do at least hope you’ll make it interesting. If Lestrade brings in another wrong suspect I am going to commit a murder myself. I will make sure I get away with it. He won’t believe that the earlier suicide they pulled from the Thames is him_ –SH

 _Speaking of hard-headed men, I wonder how many of these texts your brother can see. He just might have us both killed because you are the biggest shit talker in the world_ –JW

 _Too many most likely. If he is reading these, I hope he knows he is the biggest wanker in the entire United Kingdom and his lover is an idiot_ –SH

 _We could always go on the run. A modern day Bonnie and Clyde_ –SH

 _How romantic of you. And what type of life is that, where we go running off into the sunset like bad asses with two 6 year olds?_ –JW

 _We could always leave them on his porch with a note_ –SH

 _You are not leaving my babies on a porch_ –JW

 _I have just had to open the window and your daughters are now complaining about the level of stench_ –JW

 _They’re overreacting_ –SH

 _Obviously. E is lying atop her sister and is clutching her throat crying, ‘I’m dying…oh what a world. Tell my mother I love her…’_ –JW

 _I am two seconds close to killing her. O looks like she might do it for me_ –JW

 _She is dead. Her words, not mine. O is now giving an estimated time of death. I am so through with these kids_ –JW

 _What an amazing actresses they are_ –SH

 _It must be in the genetics. Do they get it from their parents??_ –SH

 _Well, we did make that porn once_ –JW

 _IT WAS A MOMENT OF DESPRATE DRUNKENESS AND IF YOU SPEAK OF THIS ALOUD TO ANYONE I WILL SHOOT YOUR DICK OFF AND CHOKE YOU WITH IT._ –JW

 _You’re no fun and that threat is not sexy. Be nicer to me and I may tell your whether or not I have made physical copies._ –SH

 _You ain’t shit, no way. How the hell did we get on the topic of this?_ –JW

 _You were interrupting me_ –SH

 _Oh, so I’m annoying you now_ –JW

 _You could never annoy me, Joan. I am through with Lestrade and am leaving as we speak_ –SH

 _When you get here, I’m going to thank you for the sustenance then end your life_ –JW

 _Oh good. So you’re going to shag me till I die_ –SH

 _What do you mean by that? Is that what you think that means?_ –JW

 _Isn’t that what you always mean? It’s what I always hear –_ SH

 _Sherlock Holmes I’m yelling at you about something you did but I really mean that I want you to kiss me and snog me in front of the fireplace and play your violin for me when we’re done_ –JW –SH

 _Is that really what you get out of it? Sex and violin music?_ –JW

 _You’re the one who told me you were going to, and I quote, “Ride that dick into the sunset.”_ –SH

 _I did say that, didn’t I? Did I ride you hard, my stallion?_ –JW

 _I physically didn’t move like a stallion but I was exhausted at the end so whatever you think I should say to make you feel better about this…yes_ –SH

 _You’re welcome then._ –JW

 _So you just want me to come home so you can shag me?_ –SH

 _No I’m want you to go to Tesco and buy milk so when you come home I can just take the milk from you put the milk in the fridge then proceed to beat the hell out of you till you breathe no more_ –JW

 _Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?_ –SH

 _No. I kiss you with it_ –JW

 _AH…just as well._ –SH

 _Aren’t you lucky?! I hear no complaints_ –JW

 _I suppose I should I feel loved from this_ –SH

 _I do love you… Someone has to._ –JW

 _Don’t forget to get milk._ –JW

 _I love you too_ –SH

 _And, if it gets here in a timely manner, I just might ride you into the sunset…_ –JW

 _What about the children?_ –SH

 _Mycroft isn’t busy…_ –JW

 _I’m on my way_ –SH


	6. Heatwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hot in the south in the summer.
> 
> Just ask Joan Watson.
> 
> Her boyfriend Sherlock Holmes may be able to cool her off though...
> 
> Tags for this are: teenPunk!Joan, teenPrep!Sherlock, interracial dating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on my iPhone so sorry if its layout is weird.

This was the summer to end all summers. The heat was not only unbearable, it was the type of heat that even the coolest breezes decided to take a vacation somewhere when the weather was cool.  


The heat was so bad that 4 pitchers of lemonade, 2 jars of homemade iced tea and 3 hour long cool showers did nothing to cool Joan Watson off. So she did with majority of the inhabitants of the projects were currently doing: plug in the only fan she owned, an industrial one that was luckily procured broken from the hospital and fixed by yours truly, laid in bed and prayed that God would either have mercy or kill her and spare her this torture.  


As usual, he seemed to hear her but pay no mind because as she melted, a heavy knocking sounded on her window. She tried to ignore it, eyes closed thinking it was the ravings of an overheated mind, when a voice sounded on the other side.  


" _Joooaann_ , Let me _iiinnnn_!" Sherlock Holmes whined, pawing pathetically at her widow. Somehow, in all of this... Hell, he managed to bike over and climb the fire escape to her window.

 

"I..."  


"Go away Sherlock Holmes," Joan yelled, picking up a pillow and placing it over her face. The bottom was surprisingly cool and she nearly fell into a cool coma when...  


"I… I grabbed some ice cream from _Fatcrooffftt_! It’s _meltiiinnggg_!"  


Ice cream? Well... The heat from her body warmed the pillow up too quickly and the next thing Joan found herself doing was peeling her body from the now damp comforter, and slumping to open her window. A hot breeze wafted into the room as the consulting teen nearly collapsed inside, the bag of ice cream falling from his hand and onto the floor inside. Joan picked up the bag and slumped back to the bed, sitting in front of the roaring fan. She pulled out a Drumstick and began unwrapping it, watching as Sherlock slinked in and shut the window, collapsing on the floor beneath it.  


"Why are you here?" Joan asked, licking the melting toppings.  


"I... I just," Sherlock gasped, standing up and unbuttoning his too tight dress shirt. "Why the bloody hell is it so _hot_ here? You would think this country could at least carry a _breeze_ in it."  


"That doesn't explain why you are stripping in bedroom like we're about to get down."  


He looked down at himself, as his hands rested on the edge of each side of his shirt, and looked back up at her through his lashes.  


"Aren't we?" He asked slyly, slowly inching it down past his shoulder and down his arms, showing off the long pale muscles he had started working so hard to impress her with. "I even brought you some ice cream as a foreplay tactic."  


"A foreplay tactic?" Joan asked, leaning back in disbelief. "You sound like you playin' a game, Mr.Holmes."  


He rushed over and slid across the cover, dress pants giving him a run for his money. Joan laughed out loud, nearly snorting in her half eaten cone.  


"Am I doing a good job?" He asked, sly smile now humorous. He leaned over and nuzzled his nose against her neck, placing a kiss on the sweaty skin. "Don't you want me take you, on this bed right now?"  


She slid a look over at him, thinking. Oh, okay. So he wanted to be a ladies man, huh?  


"Oh yeah," Joan cooed, turning her head towards him. She finished the last of cone and rubbed her hands on the fabric of her short-shorts. He leaned back in surprise, allowing her to lean forward towards him in return. She brought up an empty hand, and trailed her index finger down his chest. The skin was too cool in this ungodly heat and all she wanted to do was strip down and rub all her skin over him, to at least soak up a little of that. Of course, she would never allow him to know that.  


"I'm so turned on, I don't know what to do with myself." She leaned every farther into him, tilting her head up towards his. He froze in surprise, then leaned forward himself, staring intently at her parting lips.  


"Re-really?" He whispered, thinking about the softness of those lips and the skin around them, the fact that her finger seemed to melt his skin and go right through him. Like it always did.  


"Sherlock..." She leaned even closer to him.  


"Joan..." He did the same, eyes never leaving her mouth. That's why it was a complete surprise when her tongue left the confines of it and blew a raspberry in his face, a bit of spit getting caught in his eye.  


"Joan!" He yelled annoyed, turning to wipe at his eyes. Joan, on the other hand, laughed hard, clutching her stomach.  


"Oh man," she gasped in between giggles. "The look on your face! Did you really think you were going to get lucky with me, just because you bought me a bag of cheap ass ice-cream? You too funny."  


"Well," Sherlock replied disdainfully, frowning. "You did say you liked the simple things and for a mind as simple as yours, I thought 'why not?'" Joan paused laughing to give Sherlock a halfhearted stink eye.  


"If I wasn't in such a good mood now, I'd punch your testicles into your throat." She stuck her tongue out at him after the threat, then flipped backwards onto the bed and putting her hands behind her head. In the process, the hem of her shirt rose slightly and Sherlock really took in her state in the heat.  


She wore a pair of thin grey sweatpants that were cut shorter than even a half respectable pair of shorts, and a white wife beater, a men's size from the way the dipped lower in the front and its loose fit, the outfit a large difference from the heavy jeans and leather jacket she usually wore.

 

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Joan relaxed and tilted her head forward.  


"What?" She asked, giggling softly. Sherlock shook his head, leaning back on his bent elbow. Their faces were once again close.  


"Nothing at all."  


"You lyin'," Joan counteracted immediately, head dropping back. "What chu' want?"  


Sherlock leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

 

"Nothing at all," he whispered huskily in her ear. Joan shivered slightly and turned her mouth closer to his, kissing him. Sherlock's mouth opened and met hers back, trying to absorb as much of her as possible. His left hand came up slightly and dropped to her bare left leg, gently dragging his finger up, up, up.  


"Sher-," Joan tried to speak before he brought that left hand up and grabbed her right hip, bringing her closer to him. He kissed her deeper, lips sucking her lower, and she forgot her thought.  


Tilting over, she wrapped her arms around his neck and met his lips fully again, the kissing turning more and more passionate. Sherlock, as clever as he was, seemed to have more feelings than she realized, his hands raising the back of her top and clever fingers unfastening her bra. Of course Joan, somehow being the clearly thinking one, pulled away slightly.  


"Sherlock, Sherlock," Joan panted, trying to get his attention. Sherlock had a mission and he was determined to accomplish it. He kissed as nibbled at the corner of her lips, making his way down to her jawline.  


"Sherlock hold on...”  


"Why?" He asked in between kisses. "I... Want... To... Keep... Going."  


"I'm sure you do, “she countered breathlessly, pulling her arms back to grasp her breasts, keeping them from spilling from her bra. This would be the day she would choose to wear a shitty too small one, when Sherlock Holmes' balls dropped and he'd want to screw her into the mattress.

 

Not that she was truly complaining...  


"But this isn't what you came here for."  


"You're right, it's not." He continued, trying to pull her arms away from her chest. "But now that we've started, we might as well finish. Since your mother won't be back until late anyway."  


"And how would you know that?" Joan asked, defiantly keeping her arms against herself. "Sherlock...Sherlock!"  


Sherlock let out a frustrated growl and looked up at her, exasperated. "You want me to tell you how I know? Fine I'll tell you..."  


"Sher-"  


"No, no. Don't interrupt, you wanted this and now you're getting it. Are you ready?”  


"I get-"  


"Good. You were lying here in the bed looking like you were a breath away from heatstroke. Since your mother is behind on bills, this I could tell from the fact that you've been working extra shifts lately at the hospital, and she feels guilty putting the house responsibilities on you, therefore she feels the need to pay you back and the only way she'd be able to do that is work more. Your sister could be here, actually she is, next door, with the lovely lady she met at the party down the stretch the other night, with the brown hair..."  


"Clara?!" Joan said surprised. "Seriously?!" Joan looked up towards her door.  


"I'm pretty sure they're busy doing exactly what you think they're doing at this moment-"  


"How do you kno-"  


"Because I saw them making out in her bedroom window before I came here. I got caught trying to hone in my ninja skills and she took some ice cream from me. Which reminds me, she wanted me to tell you that your mother that if we were going to do it, we better not outdo them... Whatever that may mean. Do you-"  


Joan pushed him back, lips mashed against his. The man talked too damn much! Surprised at first, Sherlock relaxed into the kiss again, wrapping his arms around her back, pulling her close. Moving his hands down, he grasped her full ass in both hands and gave a firm squeeze, causing a moan to erupt from his girlfriend's mouth. After a minute of tangling and untangling limbs, they broke apart to lay side by side, staring at the ceiling, out of breath and sweaty.  


"I don't care what anyone says," Sherlock gasped, wiping the back of a hand across his forehead.

"It's too bloody hot for this. Why couldn't you live in a cooler place, like Canada?"  


"You got some nerve," Joan gasped back, littering her left hand to bat haphazardly at him. "Yo' wack ass lives here too so you can't talk. Besides, I'm much cooler now than what I was before."  


Sherlock turned his head to face her, a lopsided grin growing on his face.  


"Oh really," he asked, full of himself. "Having a cool boyfriend like me has its perks, doesn't it?" Joan shrugged.

 

"It does, but," she lifted herself up and pointed down at her side where a big splotch of chocolate ice cream stuck to her side and down to her hip. "Laying in a bed of ice cream can do the job a lot better."  


Sherlock himself shot up and looked down at the nearly ruined comforter, and the half melted Fudgesicle that lay in its busted wrapper. He picked up the stick and finished taking the paper off, and promptly stuck the chocolate in his mouth.  


"Well," Sherlock mouth around it. "At least I know now why you tasted so good."  


"I need a shower." Joan laughed, rising from the bed. She stood directly in front of the fan, allowing semi cool air to breeze her back.  


"Woderfuul," Sherlock mumbled, and then took the Popsicle from his mouth. "I think I'll join you."  


"You are just fine." Joan replied, rolling her eyes. "Shut up." Sherlock looked up at her as she peeled her top off, allowing her bra to drop to the floor and her ample breast to jiggle freely.  


"Whoo," Joan exhaled, fanning herself off with her hand. "I'm dying. I really am going to take a shower."  


He looked down at his shirtless chest, then got a fantastic idea. He took one last suck of the Popsicle and then, without blinking, slathered it all over his chest. The cold was a welcome shock but the look of it on Joan's face was even better.  


"Oh would you look at that," he gasped in fake disbelief, holding the now dark hand out. "It's seems I've made an absolute me as of my-"  


"If you touch anything on the way to the bathroom, I will chop your hands off and sew them to your chest." Joan held up a hand and beckoned him with a bent finger."C'mere."

 

He rose and gingerly stepped towards her. Joan took the messy hand, by the wrist of course, and held it to her face, and licked a long line of chocolate from his hand. He stared, mesmerized, as she licked the remains from her lips.  


"This is the only time I'll allow you in the bathroom with me so you _betta_ ' make it count." Joan turned on her heels and sashayed towards the door, opening it. Looking coyly over her shoulder, she winked.

"Don't keep me waiting, Mista' Holmes."

 

The day got cooler indeed.

 


	7. Love Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock writes Joan love letters but she never receives them. One day, my happenstance, she finds one while cleaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after Sherlock leaves but comes back after his 2 years in undercover work in Eastern Europe (which is happening shortly). He's away doing stuff and Joan is stuck cleaning up after his lazy ass, as always. 
> 
> She finds something that kinda makes it all worth it.

~~My sweet~~ , ~~my loving~~ , ~~my dearest~~

You,

The words come so easily to me in my thoughts and out my mouth but on paper they never seem to be quite enough. Not the right word or the synonyms of said word are too much.

My handwriting is shit, as you say I know, but my best is even worse.

 Practice cursive on a sheet in a primary school class.

 Not classy enough but not fully developed enough, either.

You like things like this right? You always want to make sure I’m alright, I’m alive and not in any danger, which with me you should know I’m always in. You want my words on paper, in digital, a text message ending in an italicized SH.

In my research, in a love letter, I have found, individuals like to be told what is liked about them; what the opposed wants, needs, and takes from the other, in some strange psychological game where in the end they win triumphantly or both lose out massively. The weaknesses of the mind and body, my belief best put in simple terms:

Love is a Human Error.

But I won’t start my letter like a post on the blog, an analysis of Tobacco ash that no one cares about enough to read, no one except you of course.

Let me start from the beginning.

When I first saw you, I knew there was something different. Something I could use, could shape and mold into something that no one else could use.

I wanted to make you mine and for a moment, I thought it was impossible.

You were an idiot, no worries because most people are, but you brought something out in me that even now I can’t describe.

Every word, thought that comes from that funny little brain of yours activates something in my mind and the answers come quicker, faster and I can’t help but wonder if when I was created, were you created alongside me?

 Were you made from the same fabric I was, cut and sewn to make two individuals that were destined to come together and make the one true pairing we are?

The first time I kissed you, it was absolutely amazing.

A dizzying combination of sweetness and life, pumping blood and defining heartbeats.

I was higher that I had ever been; like the best cocaine high I had ever been on without a needle piercing skin.

I needed softness, your heated tongue, muffled moans and grasping hands.

The first time I slept with you, I didn’t wake up 30 minutes, or an hour, or two hours later.

10 Hours: A full night’s sleep for a man ~~my age~~ like me.

 I rested, fully and peacefully. When I awoke, which was still obviously earlier than you because it’s me, I laid there and stared at the celling, watching the early morning rays play and dance across the blank beige.

Your head was on my chest; deep shallow breaths in tune with my beating heart.

 I held your hand, warm and solid, comforting and kind, and in this peace, I was at peace.

That’s what you do to me. You put my mind at rest; hush my thoughts and the voices in my head telling me to keep going going goingoingoinggoinggoinggoing.

I slept and when my eyes opened, I was excited to live.

Excited to see the sun, and on cloudy days, to see the sunshine, the warmth that is you.

I write this like I would write anything, an analysis on life, a memorization of you and your skin and the lines on the palm of your hands and the patchwork molding of your scar and the marks on your curves and the shades of each color hidden under skin, away from prying eyes.

I see everything in everyone, you know this. I see their secrets, their truths and lies, their dreams and fears. But when looking at you, really looking, I see…you.

I see the way your smile makes your eyes crinkle and the way your eyes twinkle at my words.

The way you hold me, the way you touch me.

I map out each old scar, cut, and bruise on your body.

 I categorize each shade of skin tone you are, from the darkest to the lightest.

I hear the compliments, fantastic and amazing and that’s how I feel.

_Everything. Is. Amazing._

I hear your anger and your sadness and your happiness, always your happiness and I am overcome by it. I am stopped dead in my tracks and held still for that moment because I’m afraid if I move I will miss something important, something that I will never see again and that is not acceptable to me.

I have fallen into your rabbit hole and I can’t seem to want to find my way out.

I missed you for those two years I was gone. I missed holding your hand and talking with you and arguing with you. I missed running through back alleys and across rooftops, your idiotic blog titles and your attitude.

I missed your laugh, your smile.

I missed your warmth.

I missed you.

Human error can cloud a man’s judgment without a single glance and my judgment has been wonderfully, deceptively, ridiculously clouded and I cannot think of a world where it would be okay for it not to be because in that world, there is no you. There is no light, no warmth, no anything and I am cold, alone and hungry.

 I am a motherless child.

I cry.

I ache.

I wish.

I love you.

It makes me sick.

But luckily for me I have a doctor who treats all my wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BlackWatson23 Tumblr: 
> 
>  
> 
> blackwatson23.tumblr.com
> 
> You are more than welcome to leave me headcannons, fan art and questions here or on Tumblr!!


	8. We are Pirates, Pirates are we

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't you hate when you can't make up your mind about something? 
> 
> So does Sherlock Holmes. Luckily he has a best friend who can help make his mind up for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on my iPhone
> 
> Note: I love Batman and Joan is describing Ertha Kitt from the old Batman series, when she played Catwoman. The best in my opinion

The assignment of the day in school was to draw a picture of what you wanted to be when you grew up and for Sherlock Holmes, it was the assignment that didn't make him regret not staying home that day. There were so many things he wanted to do as an adult he couldn't even count them all, and he could count all the way to 23 without any help from Mycroft. He rubbed his hands together and bit his bottom lip in excitement.  
There was driving cars, going to adult movies at the theatre, using kitchen knives...  
The list went on and he was tempted to plaster them all on paper until...  
"What you drawin' Sherlock?" Joan Watson asked him, dragging her chair from the girls table to his lone desk in the corner of the classroom.  
"What?" He asked, brows furrowing. Joan settled herself and smoothed her paper opposite his on the small desk. Though small, it fit both their papers perfectly so he always encouraged Joan to sit opposite him, even when she wasn't supposed to, like now. Joan was so used to being scolded by Mrs. Hudson that she blatantly ignored the older woman, just like he did, until one day she gave up and told them to do "what they liked". And since they liked being ornery, that's exactly what they did.  
Joan took out her most favorite green pencil and balanced it in her upper lip.  
"Wha do yu wunna be," she asked, lips pursued as the pencil stayed between the bottom of her nose and lip.  
"What a rikulculous question Joan." Sherlock scolded, leaning back in his chair in shock. "Very stupid. What a stupid question."  
Of course Joan would ask a stupid question like that as she was, in fact, very stupid but not as stupid as the other children in the class. Joan was the only other person who could say her entire alphabet and count over 10, though Joan only got to 14 before she had to ask him what came next. But her stupidity he could forgive because she always looked to him for the right answer and took up for him when the other children attempted to bully him for being smarter than them.  
"Oh," Joan replied, non caring. The pencil dropped to the table, making a slight pin mark on it. Sherlock disdainfully reached over, his pencil eraser in hand, and erased it."But what chu' wanna be?"  
"I wanna be an adult, Joan." Sherlock replied.  
"But that's what cha gonna be anyway, isn't it? A grown up add-ult." She asked, confused.  
"A grown up adult is redundent Joan." Sherlock sighed, his work in educating the girl never ending. "It has to be a grown up or adult, not a grown up adult."  
"Okay," she agreed and reached over the table to grab his crayons box. Opening it, she rumbled through it and pulled out a brown crayon. " I think I wanna be a doctah' when I become a grown up add-ult but at the same time I wanna be catwoman." She drew a circle with the crayon, and drew two smaller circles inside, creating a face. Sherlock rose an eyebrow, a feat he managed to perfect thanks to father.  
"A cat person? What's so special about a cat person?"  
"Catwoman is really great!" Joan exclaimed tossing her arms in the air. She gripped the crayon tightly in her hand and brought her fist down to grasp it in her other hand. She looked dreamily away and Sherlock was afraid that siting next to Sally Donovan really was doing more harm than good. He made a mental note to have another discussion with Mrs. Hudson about the benefits of sitting Joan in the corner with him.  
"Oh yes," Joan sighed happily. " she's absolutely great. She wears all black and gets lots of pretty jewels and she fights with Batman but not really and she looks like me!"  
"Like you?"  
Two Joan's? Impossible.  
Joan shrugged. "Well, kinda. She looks like me but don't at the same time, kinda." she looked down turned her head let and right to her sleeveless arms. "She mainly looks like my color but not cause I'm darker see." She held her arms out to him and sherlock leaned across the table and squinted at them. Sherlock had heard her speak of this cat person but never really paid attention to the nonsense he believed it was, mainly for the fact he knew that more than half of what she had to say was nonsense that had no room inside his mind palace.  
"Hmmm," he replied honestly thoughtful. "Hmmmm... I belieb this will constipate a future investigation." He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes in thought.  
"Yes. I will watch this cat person show and judge this for myself."  
"Really?" Joan asked excitedly.  
"Uuuuhhhhhve course." Sherlock nodded proudly.  
Joan smiled a gap toothed smile and clapped her hands.  
"It comes on aftah' skoo so you gotta be home to watch it."  
"Watch it where?"  
"On TV." She replied nonchalant. She picked up a black crayon and started drawing two circles atop the head, signifying her signature hair buns.  
"I do hope you two are getting your work done with all this chatter." Mrs. Hudson called from her desk across the room. Every head in the room tuned and stared at the two of them, even Anderson who still hadn't gotten over his stupid cold and was wiping snot from his nose with the back of an uncovered hand and wiping it on his pant leg.  
"We are." Joan called sing song ad continued coloring.  
"Alright then." Mrs. Hudson gave them a long stern stare and then looks back down at the paperwork on her desk. Sherlock humped and looked angrily at the teacher and then at Joan. He was ready to throw the paper to the ground when Joan asked, "So wadda' you wanna' be, Sherlock?"  
Sherlock sighed and then laid his head on the table with a soft 'thunk'.  
"I dunno'" he sighed, voice slightly muffled. "I jus want to survive today."  
They both sat there in peaceful quiet then, listening to the sounds of the other children whispering chatter and the taps of crayons and pencils whittling the paper on wooden tables. Joan continued to color her picture and Sherlock continued... not to.  
"Hey," Joan said suddenly, surprising him as he started to actually doze off. His head shot up and he looked up at her with sleepy surprise.  
"Hey, Sherlock." She said again.  
"What?"  
"Why don't you be a pirate?" She asked, still coloring. Sherlocks eyes widened and if he wasn't sure that all girls had some type of cootie germ, he would have came around and kissed her.  
"That's it!" He exclaimed loudly, straightening up and slamming his hands down on the table. "You fantastic conductor of light! That's a wonderful idea!"  
"Aw, thanks!" Joan exclaimed looking up. She smiled brightly at the compliment and ten her brows furrowed in confusion. "What's a conductor of light?"  
"A pirate," Sherlock continued, ignoring her. He picked up his pencil and began to draw. "I almost forgot I wanted to be a pirate. Pirates are amazing because they don't have to follow rules or eat broccoli or do their piano lessons. They can do whatever want and no one can stop them."  
"Really?" Joan asked, stop pinto look over Sherlock drawing the pirate hat atop his stick figure's curly hair.  
"Of course."  
"Hmm," Joan thought hard about that as he continued to draw. Along with his self portrait, he drew a small island with an even smaller 'x' on it, a tree that somehow, through the untrained eye, resembled a carrot, and right underneath his feet, a pirate ship. Just to make himself more menacing, he drew an eyepatch over an eye and a nice pointy sword in his left and right hands. Joan, finished with her slightly better looking colorful drawing of herself with a stethoscope in one hand and two pointed black triangles for cat ears in her head, looked at his pencil drawing then tilted her head to the side.  
"Can I be a pirate too?"  
Sherlock looked up at her in shock. What a stupid girl!  
"Of course you can be a pirate, silly girl!" He exclaimed, partly scolding. "Don't be rikulculous, Joan. You can be whatevuh you would like. You can even have a boat and, and a sword and some pirate treasure... All types of stuff!"  
Joan gasped in surprise.  
"I can have my own 'reasure and everything?"  
"Of course. I'll even help you, if you want. I'll even let you me my first mate."  
"And we'll get 'reasure?"  
"All the treasure." Sherlock nodded. "I promise."

 

A few days later, there was an open house at the school, where the pictures the students drew of their future dreams hung on the hallway wall. The two friends practically dragged Mycroft, each of his larger, chubbier hands, in their smaller ones to the two that hung side by side. On one picture, a girl holding a stethoscope in one hand and what looked to be a pirate sword, telling from the pirate hat on her cat eared head, had a big smile on her face. The other was obviously a pirate Sherlock who's head covered in too many circled curls looked a bit too much like him, devious grin and all. He held a sword in one hand and what looked like a map in the other, a big red 'X' spiking over the edges of the smaller paper. A red four-limbed creature he could only assume was Redbeard stood beside him, pink tongue sticking out and his own hat above his head.Mycroft was tickled by the pairing, but even more so as they had both drawn their caricatures near the edge of their papers so that their drawings could apparently hold hands through the edges.  
"-and Joan's gonna be my first mate," Sherlock finished his explanation of the drawings. He was confident and Joan smiled shyly.  
"Oh really?" Mycroft asked, looking down at her. Joan looked up at him and smiled brightly.  
"I'm a cat doctor!" She exclaimed, pointing to her picture.  
"Who is also a pirate." Sherlock looked at her and commented, annoyed that he would forget something so important.  
"And a pirate." She added looking and nodding at the younger Holmes.  
"Yes." Sherlock nodded in return.  
"And what magnificent pirates you both are." He said kindly an meant it to because even if they both were a little, okay a lot of the times annoying and got into trouble which, in turn, got him in trouble, they still were little kids who were always honest and never gave him any more trouble he could handle.  
They always made him be the first to see their accomplishments an in return he inwardly promised himself that come what may, he would always vocalize how proud he was of them and, as long as they did them for the right reasons, he wished them the best in everything they did.

**Author's Note:**

> BlackWatson23 Tumblr: 
> 
>  
> 
> blackwatson23.tumblr.com
> 
> You are more than welcome to leave me headcannons, fan art and questions here or on Tumblr!!


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